


Flower Talk

by SolarMorrigan



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Language of Flowers, M/M, but mostly this is supposed to just be fun, it's very confusing, some self esteem issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 20:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18185099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolarMorrigan/pseuds/SolarMorrigan
Summary: Who knew that flowers had a language? Certainly not Dakota, who is rapidly beginning to wish hehadknown (or, at least, that Cavendishhadn't)





	Flower Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Been scribbling about these two a lot in the past month or so, so I thought I'd post some of it. This one was written for the prompt "wildflowers." Did you know that every flower has approximately three million different meanings? It's true. But I used the meanings on [this website](http://blog.vermontwildflowerfarm.com/2015/02/12/wildflowers-their-significance/) for this fic
> 
> (Also yes I know not all of these flowers would be in season at the same time and also the odds of a florist having all of these wildflowers is low but I just. I just wanted to write about someone getting flowers)

Dakota had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure the bouquet arrived via their agency-issued locker, rather than through a messenger in their current time. Considering the only current-timeline residents who knew where and when Cavendish and Dakota were, were a handful of kids, Brick and Savannah, and Cavendish and Dakota themselves, it would’ve been a bit of a giveaway.

So, putting on his best look of surprised interest, Dakota pulled the vase from the locker when it arrived with the rest of their mail from 2175 and turned to Cavendish’s desk.

“Hey, Cav, check it out!”

“Hm?” Cavendish only glanced up from his work for a moment before looking back down, and Dakota waited patiently for the image of the flowers to filter through to Cavendish’s brain.

It didn’t take long.

“What the devil are those?” Cavendish demanded, staring at the vase in Dakota’s hands as though it contained half a dozen squirrels tied with string, rather than a bouquet.

“They’re _flowers_. Y’know, they grow out of the ground, smell pretty–”

“I know what flowers are,” Cavendish snapped.

“Then why’d you–”

“What are you _doing_ with them?”

“Well, at the moment, I’m holdin’ ‘em. I was gonna put them on your desk, though,” Dakota said.

“Why would you think I’d want flowers on my desk?” Cavendish asked, his tone longsuffering.

“‘cause they’re for you.” Dakota plopped the vase on Cavendish’s desk and turned it so the card was facing him.

Cavendish blinked at the card. “…for me?”

“Yeah, for you!” Dakota grinned. “So, don’t keep me in suspense, who’re they from?”

“I,” Cavendish trailed off for a moment, still staring at the little florist’s card hanging from the neck of the vase, “I’ve no idea.”

“Then read the card, genius,” Dakota teased; he’d expected surprise, but the outright confusion at something so simple as flowers was a little endearing.

“Right, the card. Of course.” Cavendish nodded, reaching out to flick the card open.

Cavendish’s brows furrowed as he read the message, a reaction Dakota had also expected, and he fought the urge to grin – he knew exactly what the card said.

“All it says is: _“To Balthazar, from your secret admirer.”_ ” Cavendish frowned at the card.

“ _Really?”_ Dakota came around the desk and leaned close to Cavendish to have a look for himself. “Any idea who it might be?”

“Not in the slightest,” Cavendish said with a shake of his head, only seeming to realize how close Dakota had come when the brim of his hat brushed against Dakota’s shoulder. “Do you mind?”

“Nope,” Dakota replied easily, keeping one hand on the desk to lean a little closer under the pretense of smelling the flowers.

Cavendish flushed, though not quite in the frustrated way he used to when Dakota pushed his buttons. “Well, I do,” he said, nudging Dakota away with a gentle elbow.

“Sorry.” Dakota shrugged, sidling out of Cavendish’s personal space and back around the desk. “You really have no idea who it is?”

“I told you: no,” Cavendish huffed.

“Well, is there anyone you _hope_ it is?” Dakota asked, sending his partner a sly smile.

“Well, I–” Cavendish looked at last up from the flowers to meet Dakota’s eyes, then looked quickly away, clearing his throat. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

His smile showing no signs of diminishing, Dakota teased at Cavendish just a little more. “You’re sure, huh?”

“You know, I wonder what these mean?” Cavendish asked suddenly, as though he hadn’t heard Dakota speak.

“What do you mean, what do they mean? They’re flowers, Cav, they mean someone likes you,” Dakota said.

“Not the bouquet as a whole, I mean the flowers themselves.” Cavendish sent Dakota a flat look. “Each flower has a unique and individual meaning, you know.”

“Flowers mean things?”

Well, shit.

“Of course! The language of flowers can be quite romantic.”

Well, _shit_. Dakota hadn’t known flowers had a whole damn language. He’d picked a bunch that he thought looked nice together, all vibrant bunches of purples and pinks and blues. He hadn’t been trying to say anything other than _I like you_.

“Mind, I’m not exactly read up on the meanings of different flowers…” Cavendish said pensively.

Dakota perked up. Maybe there was hope that, if the message he’d accidentally sent was something terrible, Cavendish wouldn’t figure it out.

“But I’m sure I’ll easily be able to find them!” Cavendish concluded, pulling out his phone to snap a picture of the bouquet.

 _Well, shit_.

“There’s no chance of you just accepting that it’s a bunch of flowers with no deeper meaning than someone is into you, is there?” Dakota asked, watching as Cavendish tapped at the screen of his phone.

“Nope,” Cavendish replied absently. “Ah, here we go! Looks like…hollyhocks, cornflowers, lilacs, and carnations.”

That sounded about right; Dakota vaguely remembered the florist telling him what he had chosen as they rang him up.

“You know, some of these flowers have been extinct since the 2050’s,” Cavendish continued, looking at the flowers with renewed interest. “I suppose that narrows it down to anyone stationed in the first half of the 21st century on back.”

Damn, Dakota hadn’t even thought about that; he likely should’ve, considering he’d never even seen some of the flowers he picked out, but at the time he’d been more concerned with picking things that looked nice. He hadn’t planned on being caught out so early, but he supposed that was what he got for underestimating Cavendish.

“Guess so,” Dakota replied, doing his best to stay nonchalant.

“Now let’s see. Hollyhocks seem to symbolize ambition; I suppose that’s a nice sentiment,” Cavendish read from his screen, and Dakota let out a silent breath; maybe he hadn’t chosen anything too terrible. “Cornflowers symbolize… single blessedness? What does that even mean?”

 _Single blessedness?_ What _did_ that mean?

“Ya got me there.” Dakota shrugged.

“Hm. Lilacs, meanwhile, mean… the joy of youth? Well, that’s just rude,” Cavendish huffed, shooting a dirty look at the flowers in question.

Dakota snorted, amused despite himself, and Cavendish’s dirty look transferred to him.

“It’s not funny, Dakota,” Cavendish sniffed. “You _know_ I went grey early, it’s hardly–”

“Yeah, I know, I got it, I’m sorry.” Dakota held up his hands in surrender. “It was just the look you were givin’ the flower.”

Mollified, though only just, Cavendish gave a quiet “hmph” and looked back to his screen. “Well, the carnations seem to mean “alas for my poor heart.” That’s puzzling.”

Actually, those were fitting.

(Not that Dakota would ever let Cavendish know, but still. Fitting.)

On the whole, though, it seemed as though Dakota had managed to choose a confusing hodgepodge of flowers.

“What on Earth could all of these mean?” Cavendish pondered. “It’s hardly an affectionate message…”

Dakota shook his head. “Cav, seriously, what if the person just picked some pretty flowers? Why do they gotta _mean_ anything?”

“Well, who would just _send_ me flowers?” Cavendish asked, then sat up so quickly with a gasp that Dakota might have assumed something had bitten him. “Dakota, what if someone is trying to send me a _message?”_

“That’s what _I’ve_ been saying! Someone’s givin’ you a message that they _like_ you,” Dakota insisted.

“No, no, no, I mean, a…” Cavendish paused, looking around the room, as if someone could actually be hiding in their shoebox of an office, “ _message_. Something important. Top secret, even!”

“And you think they’re trying to tell you… via flower.”

“I don’t know! It makes at least as much sense as your theory!”

“My theory makes way more sense! _My_ theory is that someone wants you to have somethin’ nice!” Dakota waved his arms at the bouquet in exasperation. “It’s not that hard to believe that someone out there thinks you’re a real great guy and just wanted to give you some flowers.”

Cavendish blinked at Dakota, his cheeks going a little pink once more before he shook his head and sat back down at his desk. “No, that can’t be it. It must be a message of some kind… but what?”

Dakota groaned, letting his head fall back in boneless frustration.

“Ambition is clear enough, but the rest are somewhat esoteric. “Joy of youth” might be referring to a young person… perhaps another agent? But where does “single blessedness” fit in? Is there a religious connection? And the carnations – could they mean an actual injury to the heart? Dakota, I– where are you going?” Cavendish had looked up from his consideration of the bouquet just in time to see Dakota grab his keys and head for the door.

“I just have an errand to run. You have fun with your conspiracy flowers, I’ll be back in a bit,” Dakota assured him.

Cavendish’s mustache pulled to the side as his lips twisted in disapproval. “Alright, I suppose. But do hurry back, this could be important.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.” Dakota gave a vaguely reassuring wave that Cavendish didn’t see, his head already bent back over his phone in concentration.

-/-/-

For an organization concerned with the very nature of time, the Bureau of Time Travel wasn’t exactly the fastest in getting mail through. It was another two days before the second bouquet was transported to their locker, and it had been two days too long.

Honestly, Dakota adored Cavendish. He did – hence the flowers. But Cavendish had been driving him up the wall with his theories regarding the meaning of said flowers in the last two days. So far, he seemed to think he’d worked out that the secret message had to do with a young religious leader (“Possibly even a prophet!”) and maybe a heart attack.

All Dakota had wanted to do was test the waters a little; he liked Cavendish a lot—a whole lot—and he was fairly certain Cavendish was into him, and he’d just wanted to be sure. Maybe ease Cavendish into the idea of romance. Do something nice for him. Instead, the flowers he’d picked purely for aesthetics had sparked a 48-hour conspiracy theory session that Dakota was eager to put an end to. He hoped the second bouquet would do the trick.

“Hey, Cav,” Dakota called as he pulled the flowers from the locker, “looks like you got another.”

“Another?” Cavendish’s attention snapped immediately from the paper he’d been scribbling over in an attempt to puzzle out the floral message to the vase in Dakota’s hands.

“Yep.”

Dakota placed the second bouquet next to the first on Cavendish’s desk; even after three days, the blues and purples of the first bouquet were still vibrant, and on a visual level Dakota still preferred it to the second bunch of flowers he’d picked. These new flowers weren’t as big or as colorful, but if he’d done his homework properly, they were decidedly more meaningful.

“You see, Dakota? Someone _is_ trying to tell me something,” Cavendish crowed, already reaching for his phone.

“They sure are,” Dakota agreed drolly. “What’re they trying to tell you this time?”

“Let’s see…” Cavendish tapped quickly at the phone screen, snapping a photo and sending it through to search. “It looks like white clovers, heliotropes, white jasmine, and morning glories.”

Exactly right. Dakota nodded, playing at ignorance. “Yeah? What do those mean?”

“White clover means “think of me.” Interesting. Heliotropes represent… eternal love?” Cavendish blinked at the screen, looking back up at the flowers for a moment as if they would suddenly change into blooms more appropriate to a super-secret message. “Well, alright, I suppose. White jasmine symbolizes… _sweet_ love, and morning glories are for affection– what on Earth?”

Dakota bit down on a grin, getting the feeling he only half succeeded in keeping it from spreading. “Sounds like a sweet message to me.”

“No, it is not!” Cavendish snapped. “It’s confusing, is what it is!”

“Cav, you’re really gettin’ too worked up over all this. I think–”

“Is this person just _mocking_ me, now? Send me something to make me think it’s an important message and then, oh, _har-har_ , now they send me a floral declaration of love!”

“Balthazar!”

That got Cavendish’s attention; it wasn’t as though Dakota had never used his first name before, but it was uncommon enough that the sound of it jarred him from his rant.

“Okay, look, hear me out,” Dakota said, putting his hands up in a “woah there” sort of gesture. “ _What if_ the person who sent you these just wanted to send some pretty flowers and when they picked ‘em they had no idea that flowers had whole secret meanings attached to ‘em and they were just as surprised as you were when they heard what those specific flowers meant?”

Cavendish sighed. “Dakota…”

“No, I’m not done. Because _then_ , what if that person decided to go out and do it right and spent, like, an hour standing around in the flower shop until it looked like the florist was gonna throw ‘em out trying to pick ones that mean nice things like “think of me” and affection and whatnot because they seriously just _like you_ , Cav, and wanted to give you something nice?” Dakota paused for breath. “What _then?”_

“That’s… an oddly specific scenario,” Cavendish said slowly, cocking an eyebrow at Dakota.

“Eh, probably because that’s exactly what happened,” Dakota replied sheepishly, rubbing absently at the back of his neck.

“How would you–” Cavendish broke off, looking to the flowers and then back at Dakota, the dawning realization visible in his eyes. “Oh. You…”

“Yeah, me,” Dakota admitted with a shrug.

_“Why?”_

“Really? I spent forever tryin’ to figure out how to say it with flowers and you still don’t get that I really like you?”

“Well, why did you have to do it with flowers at all?” Cavendish snapped. “Why couldn’t you just say it out loud like a normal person?”

“I just did! Like, two seconds ago,” Dakota reminded him.

“No, I mean– before all of this mess happened.” Cavendish waved an exasperated hand over the flowers and conspiracy theories strewn over his desk. “Why did you let me go on for the last two days about what the damned flowers meant if you were the one who sent them all along?”

“Oh,” Dakota glanced away, clearing his throat. “I didn’t wanna give myself away just yet. I thought maybe once I got you the second bouquet, things’d get back on track, but you didn’t believe ‘em so I had to come clean.”

“But why did you bother with flowers at all?” Cavendish huffed.

“Well, I dunno, I thought it’d be kinda romantic, y’know? Like,” Dakota waved his hands vaguely, as if he could encompass the nonexistent shape of a romantic plot, “someone sends you flowers and you’re all happy about it and curious and then hey, it was actually me this whole time. I dunno, guess it doesn’t make as much sense in retrospect, but I kinda wanted to make sure you were down with the idea.”

“Idea of _what?”_

“Me? Me ‘n you, together.” Dakota shrugged.

Cavendish scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

Ouch.

That actually hurt more than Dakota had expected – maybe because he’d have thought that if Cavendish rejected him, he’d do so gently. A brush-off like that—saying the notion of the two of them together was ridiculous—stung quite a bit.

“Well– well, hey, you don’t have to–”

“Of course I’m interested,” Cavendish cut in, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You… are?” Dakota stared uncertainly at Cavendish.

 _“Yes,”_ Cavendish rolled his eyes, “but all of this clandestine nonsense with the flowers is entirely unnecessary.”

“Oh.”

Dakota took a moment to let the statement sink in. Cavendish was interested. Cavendish _liked_ him.

A giddy smile broke over Dakota’s face.

“You sure you didn’t like the flowers, though?” He teased.

“Well, I–” Cavendish glanced back at the bouquets, “I didn’t _dislike_ them. They’re… thoughtful, if perhaps ill thought-out.”

“’scuze me, I spent a lot of time picking those out,” Dakota defended, though he still couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Especially the second one.”

“They’re very nice,” Cavendish said quickly, “you just – Dakota, you don’t have to butter me up, you could just _ask.”_

“Oh. Then do you, uh… wanna get dinner? Not now, it’s only, like, 2 PM and we just had lunch, but later? When we got time?” Shit that was awkward. Dakota hadn’t been prepared to ask Cavendish out for a little bit, yet, and doing it on the fly was much tougher than he’d expected.

Something in Cavendish’s answering smile said he knew that, though.

“I would like that very much.”

(At this rate, Dakota’s grin was never going to go away.)

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I see and respect everyone's "Dakota is the more romantically and/or sexually experienced one between him and Cavendish" headcanons, but listen. Listen, Dakota sacrificed hundreds of himself (himselves?) to save Cavendish and kept it a secret and just kept laid back and chill about it because _he couldn't do otherwise_ and if this isn't a doofus who falls in love with people super hard and remains devoted to them, I don't know what is. I would bet on him having had only a few real crushes/relationships because of this and being an awkward dork when he actually has to talk about his feelings beyond "Hey, I like you." But ANYWAY
> 
> Also posted [on Tumblr](http://solarmorrigan.tumblr.com/post/183601147248/flower-talk-milo-murphys-law-dakavendish)


End file.
